Deagol Missed
by mekareQ
Summary: Deagol didn't find the ring. It wasn't brought to Mt. Doom, in fact, the wise still wait for it to be found. Saruman once said the ring might wash from the river to the ocean and there sit until the earth is remade. What if he is half right? The ring
1. Default Chapter

OK, this is my first Lord of The Rings Fan-Fiction, so have mercy!

The presumption of this story:

Saruman told the council of the wise that the ring had most likely been washed from the river to the ocean, where it would lay until the end of the world. We know that he merely said this to distract the council from pursuing the ring, but what if his scenario had been true? What if the line of kings died in time un-rememberable (perhaps the last was Arthur)? What if the ages of hobbits and elves and dwarves are long gone and the maiar hide themselves? After all, the ring was found by Deagol in an accident. What if he hadn't made that fateful snatch?

Oceans dry and move, mountains crumble to the ground. The ring was last seen in water, and water has a way of… getting around. After thousands of years, the wise become complacent, and the evil lingers on…

PART I

IN A PLACE WHERE IT IS BLOODY HOT ALL THE TIME

Las Vegas. Some city. The city of lights. No, that's Paris. Maybe it's the city that never sleeps… no, I think that's New York. I know it's not the Emerald City- that's Seattle, my home. Seattle is as far from Las Vegas as, well it's actually pretty close, geographically. Only a two-hour flight (Take Alaska Air, the pilots get cute in their on-board announcements). But Seattle and Las Vegas are so far apart in so many ways it sometimes seems hard to imagine they are two places in the same country. Seattle is a white city, a very clean city, a city where people will hold doors for you and where you can walk down the street at night and have your wallet with you when you get home. Las Vegas is beautiful with its lights and excitement, there are fountains that sing and dance and everywhere you look are beautiful people. But in my city the ocean is near and you can sometimes smell it on the breeze, and other times the streets smell like rain, everything is clean and cool. There are beautiful people in Seattle too, but it's the kind of beauty you don't get from a surgeon's knife and it's a beauty you don't necessarily see.

This sounds like a love letter, except to a place instead of a person. You always love the place you leave. I left Seattle because I thought it was boring and unchanging, and, well, wet. Yes I said it, and the clichés are true, it's wet in Seattle. Nine months of gray and rain and you forget the color of the sky and begin to believe the sun leaves in the fall and winter and most the spring. You imagine the stars are not as bright and striking as you remember and you hear the siren's call of the desert. And, where better to go, if you want a desert, than Las Vegas. Las Vegas gets an annual rainfall of about three inches a year, in Seattle we can get that in a day.

Las Vegas is as far as you can get (not geographically, but, well, you know) from Seattle as possible. In the middle of the desert an oasis of music and art, and just a touch of evil. Well, evil is a little harsh. Just people doing what they need to do to get what they feel they need to get. The fact that I'm just an architect doesn't make me any better than the people who peddle their trades in the street. Normally I'm not this judgmental, evil is just in the forefront of my mind this afternoon. I don't know why. I drove out to a building site today, they'll be building a casino there, a new monstrosity my name will be on until it is dust and gone. In Las Vegas that will be about ten years. History makes way for the present here. At any rate, We drove out to this lot and I felt…wrong. Not just wrong, but sick, panicky…I don't know. I had a friend who became a junkie, and when she dried up she said that sometimes the longing was there, that it had always been there and always would be there; and although she knew it hadn't hurt like this ten minutes ago, and tomorrow it would be gone, this longing was still eternal. That's how this felt, wrong, and I felt as though it had been wrong forever. But when we drove off after the site-inspection it faded. But it's not yet gone.

So here I am, on the strip. I would have been placed in a condo, or perhaps welcomed as a guest at the home of the casino-owner I'm working for (he wants me happy), but I wanted a suite where I could see the lights. That was three months ago when Las Vegas was a place I had just visited, before the heat wore on me and the personalities I am now suffocating from were still exotic and exciting. Now that I am back in this suite I start to feel better. The evil feeling is wearing off and I begin to fall in love with the city again (the air-conditioning is helping). For a sweet moment I feel plain relief. Then the knowledge that tomorrow I visit the site again overpowers me. I could skip it, I could have someone else measure out the stakes and do the pre-building checks. But if something went wrong it would be my fault. I may have to live with having an ugly, overdone casino in this world with my name on the plans, but I can't have it be wrong. I push the discomfort away, and go to bed.

NEXT MORNING

So here I am. Again. Feeling….I still don't know how to describe it so I'll call it wrong. We got here early and set out our surveying stakes and marked off the areas we'll begin digging at. This is a lot easier, I'll admit, here than in Seattle. In Seattle a sudden rain will wash away markings unless you take precautions. That is really not a problem here. It's hot, only noon and it'll soon be over a hundred degrees. I'm not quite dying. First thing every morning I jump in the hotel pool for a swim and don't dry my hair. I put it up in a high bun and it keeps me cool for most of the morning. I'll dump a bottle of ice-water from the cooler over my head around two this afternoon and that'll keep me going until we're done today. When we were having pre-development meetings, drawing sessions and such this plan worked exceedingly well, but in this place it isn't quite enough.

This casino is being built off the strip, further out in the desert. It's going to be a resort for the uber-rich that don't want to have to rub elbows with the working class. Eventually the city will probably spread out and engulf this little spot which now seems so isolated. At night you will be able to see the city lights from this spot (at least until this new casino's lights drown them out), but right now we seem completely engulfed in the desert. Hard to imagine this spot was once covered over with ice a mile deep. So was most of America. But the glaciers receded. Not to start dwelling on Seattle again, but you can see the remains of the glaciers on Mt. Rainier on clear days from the Space Needle in my city, and they're beautiful. There used to be some on Mt. St. Helens, but the last eruption took care of them. (Mt. Rainier is a volcano too, but it hasn't been active in thousands of years. They say it's the more powerful of the two, but as it won't blow in my lifetime, I'm not going to be concerned). You might wonder why I would be so interested in ice, but glaciers deposited large rock and metal caches, and you have to be wary of them if you want to keep your schedule. It's bizarre some of things the glaciers left behind and in the desert where there hasn't been forests growing and rivers flowing and other landscape-changing forces, things stay near to the surface. The desert is also unique in the fact that no one develops it. Sometimes oil is struck, and sometimes gold is found, but the desert is dangerous and you don't find things where people easily die before they look. If it wasn't for a city that functions as "America's Playground" (there, that's the slogan), less than 20 miles away no one would cross this ground on foot or in car, nothing would draw them and the desert would kill them before they got to here from whatever point they started at.

You may not know this, but when a building this important (in the minds of those funding it) is begun you dig the first shovel-full of dirt from the foundation with a gold (plated) shovel and a picture is taken for posterity. If it is a college, a wealthy benefactor strikes the first blow; a new mall may attract a minor celebrity. However, in this sweltering heat out in the middle of nowhere, which will soon be somewhere, I get to be the one to bear the shovel first. The owner probably should have been the one but it is now long over a hundred degrees and having his picture in the center pages of some paper is not that important to him. An unthinking worker who is wearing work gloves hands me the shovel. The shovel has been left sitting in the sun and the gold (plated) handle scalds my hands. I want to throw it down, it hurts, it hurts a lot, but I want to get his over and done with more.

I smile through the pain at the camera and draw the first shovel of dirt and sand. Something glints and for a moment I think it's the gold plating of the shovel, but it is in the dirt itself. I don't care. It's too hot and I simply dump the soil to the side. Maybe I've struck gold, but at this point that would mess up my schedule and ironically **cost **me money. I ignore the glint and continue with the ridiculous ceremony. Eventually the camera is packed away, we've gotten all the shots we need of the beginning of this particular venture. My hands hurt and in a moment of pure childishness I lick my scalded palms. One of the workers smiles at me and for the first time today I feel a slight ray of, well I don't know. If this place makes me feel wrong and evil I guess this guy's smile gives me a glimmer of something right and good. But it's gone as quickly as he is. I wonder vaguely who hired him, but I have more important things to mind then random workmen.

People pack things up, it's almost six and it's been a long day. The workers are tired and grumpy and everyone is avoiding everyone else. I'm not overly concerned, they'll ride together in air-conditioned work trucks back to wherever they're leaving their personal cars (I know where that is, but right now I don't care to think about it, it's too hot). By the time they get to them they'll be feeling better and may even grab a couple of beers in the city. As they pack up their various tools, the golden (plated) shovel jumps to the forefront of my mind. I wonder, briefly, whose responsibility it is. Although I would be happy to never touch it again, I make my way over to where I dropped it earlier and find it still lying there. It's easier to throw it into my trunk than to deal with the grief of explaining its absence should it disappear with someone else and later be missed. If it did walk home (as my mother might say) with someone it did not belong to, I would hate to have to pay for it. After being burned by it once (physically) I would hate to be burned by it again (you know, in being considered a thief and having to pay for it). I grab it, and would you believe it burns my hands again! I wasn't thinking straight and handled it with my bear hands again, _while in the middle of thinking about how it burned me. _There is something in the air that is making me feel smokey, dizzy…strange. For a moment I'm afraid that I'm having a sun stroke, but my vision is clear of the black blossoms that proceed a heat stroke and I decide I'm just stressed. I'm wearing a linen shirt over a tank top, so I take off the over-shirt and winding it around my left hand (the less-burned one) I use it to pick up the shovel by its neck, just above the scoop. As I pick it up it disrupts the first shovel-ful of dirt from the ceremony earlier today. Something glints again in the fading sun, and this time curiosity over-whelms the exhaustion and heat. I sink my right hands into warm dirt and come up with something I completely did not expect.

A plain gold band.

AT THE COUCIL OF THE WISE

Elrond gazed at Legolas. "I'm not mistaken in my vision, Thrandulion, the ring is in the desert." The long, wearying years had not aged him much, but it had sharpened his eyes and made his gaze more disconcerting. Unless you were one who had endured it for years un-countable. Then it was only mildly annoying.

"I tell you, Master Elrond, that there was no ring found today. The ages have not dulled my sight any more than you claim they have not dulled your foresight. Had the ring been found and concealed by any I would have seen it in their eyes, and did not. Although the area had a general feeling of a place where evil has dwelt long. I stayed until the tools were packed, and after joined the workers in drinking, and no man found it."

"But it may have been there, you felt it?" Elrond's gaze sharpened further still.

" I said that it was not found, that does not mean it may not have been there, unfound."

"Master Elves, please. If the ring was not found it may still be buried in the desert." Gandalf's voice had not lost any of its resonance. "We should arrange to find it ourselves and to destroy it at long last."

For long moments the two elves and one wizard regarded each other levelly. Then Elrond quietly stated: "Contact the others, arrange for the full council to meet. We must organize to find this thing of evil and be done with it at last."

"All due respect, Mast Elrond, but we must seek it now. Tonight, if possible. If it was not found by a random worker today it may be found tomorrow."

With this statement by Legolas, a long pause followed. The three ancients regarded each other, coming to the same conclusion. After a moment Elrond sighed and said: "We must still alert the others."

"Yes," said Gandalf, "I shall send Mirandier with tidings directly."

"As much as that's appreciated, Gandalf, perhaps we won't bother the Eagle Lord for this. Let's try their cell phones first." With a quirk of his eyebrow, Elrond managed a smile at his old friend. Elrond and Gandalf began calling while Legolas went to gather tools for their night-dig.

IN A SUITE (A LUXURIOUS ONE)

It's a weird ring. No it's not. It's a very plain ring. But still it's weird. NO, it's NOT. I look at the clock, nine o'clock. I've been going around like this for three hours now. I may very likely be going mad. It's a weird ring. No it's not. For a long moment, I have this bizarre urge to slip it on my hand, but I don't. I try to remember why I haven't put it on yet, and falter. I almost slip it onto my hand, but then a list catches my eye.

You see, although I seem strangely-minded right now, I am an architect and am thereby by trade an organized, carefully thinking person. Before my mind got caught in this cycle like a record needle in a skip, I made lists of my thoughts on the ring.

My Lists on the Ring

You do not find valuable things discarded in the middle of nowhere, you may loose something valuable when your guard is down, or where it is very busy and you do not note you've lost it. You do not simply loose something this valuable in the desert unless something bad has happened.

i.e. You take off your ring in a bathroom to wash your hands, and forget it, and when you get back its been taken. Or your ring slips off your finger in a busy place and it's busy so you don't hear it and the press of the crowd distracts you from your loss.

If this ring is in the desert, it was not lost, something bad happened.

Possible bad things that happened:

Ring was on hand of someone who's car broke down. This person wandered into the desert and it fell off and they either made it home and didn't care enough to go back and find it or they (more likely) died of exposure, and no one knew to look for it.

The Mafia dumped a body in the desert and as they were dragging it to unload it or bury it, the corpse lost a gold ring that the goons either didn't miss or didn't want to take the time and risk of looking for.

It was caught on a bird's foot and got dropped out in the middle of nowhere.

It was on the hand of someone back in the pioneer days and they lost it, and it's been lost a hundred years or more.

Conclusions:

The ring was not lost in a carefree moment of joy. People do not have carefree moments of joy in the middle of the desert.

None of the ways I listed it may have been lost are very probable:

It's not likely that someone's car breaking down caused the person to loose the ring. Not that close to the Las Vegas strip. If their car had broken down on the highway they would have walked towards the lights of the strip, which would have been the opposite way. There would be no real reason for anyone who was just lost to have been out where I found the ring.

It's possible the Mafia dumped a body that lost a ring in the desert. As near as fifty years ago, the Mafia was seriously involved in the casino business of Las Vegas. This still doesn't feel right though, for two reasons that I see. First, because we hadn't found a body in all the prep work today for the building site and I would imagine that goons wouldn't drag a body too far, they would just drive up to where they wanted to dump it. Secondly, although the Mafia controlled early Las Vegas, they didn't condone murders in Nevada. That was considered bad luck as it attracted the FBI. People to be "offed" were normally taken to California or Colorado.

Actually, the bird theory is the best I can think of right now.

I doubt it lost in the pioneer days, the ring doesn't look that old. Actually I don't think it's been lost that long, it looks freshly polished.

In all these scenarios (except the bird one) the person who lost this ring was dead or about to be when they lost it. I'm probably not going to be slipping it on to check out it's fit on me anytime soon.

So those are my lists. Two hours ago I was joking about the likelihood of my trying on the ring. It's a morbid idea really, like stealing clothes from an embalmer.

Why, then, do I really want to see how it looks on my hand? It's really, a very, weird, ring.

PART II

DURING WHICH THE COUNCIL OF THE WISE TAKES A FIELD TRIP

The heat of the day had gone, but it was being released gradually from the earth maintaining almost comfortable warmth. But the sun was gone, and soon the desert would drop into temperatures cold enough to make one's ear points snap off. Not that that had ever happened to anyone Legolas had ever known, but in the days when there had been other elves to have ear points, which might snap off in extreme cold, Legolas had rarely been in the desert at night.

There had been general discussion on how to find the ring, ranging from Galadriel's mirror (in storage and not available until tomorrow at nine o'clock standard time) to the members of the council wandering around the desert in the general area Elrond's vision had indicated until someone got a "vibe." In the end it had been Legolas who had thought of metal detectors. They had decided they could mix the "vibe" idea while using the metal detectors, which might, or might not detect the magical ring. The suggestion to use the palantir had been quickly shot down. Saruman's treachery might have long gone unknown had Gandalf not inadvertently come across the seeing-stone. But once found, Saruman had declared his own guilt, a guilt which had gnawed at him for thousands of years, and he had returned in shame of his actions to Valinor. Gandalf had wondered long and hard for the answer of what to do with palantir, and had eventually put it into storage. After all, they were still all not accounted for and although Mt. Doom had long since crumbled to the earth, who knew what foul place evil eyes might be gazing out from, searching for a twisted hope?

They had swiftly developed a pattern search for the ring, and, working from the center of the build site out, they had been scanning the area in grids. As his own pattern drew him near to Elrond's, he paused and waiting for the older elf to join him. Elrond's own metal detector made a final sweep of his current grid, and resting it on the ground he met Legolas's eyes.

Without preamble, Legolas unloaded the questions that had been pressing on him. "Lord Elrond, not to disparage your vision, but saying that the ring is here, how would it have come to this place?"

Elrond's eyes became distant, only for moment though, his answer was quiet, almost easily missed. "I don't know. But tell me, Thrandulion, do you not also feel that the ring is here."

"With honesty Elrond, I felt stronger this morning that a great evil was here, but now I feel only a lingering darkness. It makes me wonder if my earlier feeling was perhaps influenced by my own desire to have this done, than by any true reason."

For a moment the two elves regarded each other, then both raised their detectors and continued the search, only occasionally seeing the bob of a flashlight across the sand suggesting another council member also searching.

BACK IN THE LUXURIOUS SUITE

I wish I was in Seattle. Seattle is a beautiful city. Seattle has sweet rain, and good people, and sometimes you can hear the ocean no matter where you are. Seattle has a decent baseball team, with the best fans in the baseball. If I was in Seattle I would have never found the ring. If I was in Seattle, I wouldn't keep forgetting why I shouldn't put it on. I want to be home. If I was in Seattle right now, I could look out and see Mt. Rainier's snow caps, well not right now, right now it's night, and you can't see the mountain at night. Can't see the mountain at night. You can't see Mt. St. Helen's from Seattle. My mother said you used to be able to see it from Olympia, but then it blew, a year before I was born and now you can't see it form Olympia, and maybe you never could and maybe mom was exaggerating. Mt. St. Helen's. Why is that important? It's not, only the ring is important, but something seems important about the mountain. It had been acting active a while ago, was it still? I really want to put the ring on. Really Really. Really. I was hungry, but now I only want to put the ring on. I was going to take a shower, but then I wanted to put the ring on. I was going to…

Going to…

Wow. Flashback. Remember how I said that I'm all organized, etceteras? I think I said that, I also think I may be going crazy. But anyways. What was I saying? I was going to say, what was I going to say? I was going to… that's right! I kept saying all the things I was going to do, and it made me think of this time just after high school when a friend of mine was just coming out of a detox center, I'm not sure, but I think I may have mentioned her earlier too. Anyways…I asked her what she was going to do now that she was clean, and she had said that she wasn't sure. She had been going to go to school, she had been going to get a good job, she had been going to… then she had started crying. I remember thinking how sad it was to have all those "going tos." I had promised myself I would never have a similar list someday, I was going to do all my going-to-dos. Admittedly, my list of going-tos isn't too serious right now, but I don't like the pattern. I'm acting high, I'm acting like someone jonesin' for a fix and that's not like me. I'm an architect for God's sake! I don't act like this. I don't.

I wish I was in Seattle, if I were in… wait, that's bad too. Wishes and going-tos are the same thing right now. And it's the ring doing it to me. I don't know how. Remember the list, I know I already mentioned the list, the list is now covered in drawings of circles… rings. I'm going nuts, good old fashioned 'Donovan's Brain' nuts. I pick up the list; you can hardly make out the words anymore. I've written something I don't remember writing; "it's precious to me." That sends a chill up my spine. I wrote something I don't remember, that sounds a little like a blackout. If I were in a better state of mind (but my mind is returning to a better state, I can feel it) I would have reasons for this. Tainted water, heat stroke, other, maybe better reasons, but right now I feel that I know it's the ring. I have to get rid of it. I pick it up and walk to the window, but remember that windows don't open in Vegas (people lose big, then they, well I'm sure you follow). Okay, can't throw it away, I'll flush it. Wait. What if someone else finds it? It's not likely, but it is possible. Is it right to cast this madness to someone else? Some random person? Part of me screams 'yes!' But something else says no. And though that part is quieter, I find myself obeying.

I walk to my suitcase, I never unpack in hotels, my mother said that was the best way to lose something. There's a small lock on the front compartment, where my jewelry is. I don't want to look for the key, so with a quick, savage little twist, I break the lock and rummage through until I find a small box. I open it and shake out my pearl ring (until today my most prized-possession, a thing I would never not show utmost care for). I take the empty ring box back to the table, and carefully fit the ring into it. I snap the lid shut and feel even better. I stare at the box. The overwhelming urge to rip it open and force my finger into the ring comes over me, but I banish it, if not from my mind, to the back of it. I start to walk away, but come back and, grabbing the box and opening the top drawer of the standard hotel chest in one move, cast the box to the back of the drawer and slam it closed. My relief is almost painful.

Walking out of the main room (remember, this is a luxurious suite) I make my way to the bedroom and cast myself upon the bed, not even pulling down the comforter.

Sleep claims me.


	2. In Which the Wise Hit a Casino

AT WHICH POINT (ONE OF) THE WISE HIT A CASINO

Elrond wandered around the casino, aimlessly. At times his eyes strayed to the cameras, forever watching in their little black bubbles above the gaming area, but mainly he turned his sight inward focusing on himself.

"What did I interpret wrong?" It was a question he had been mulling over for over an hour, since he and his companions had returned from their unsuccessful search. A day ago he had been utterly confident in his vision which had called the wise from the world over (not that there were that many of them, but they had spread out over the years), but now he was faltering in his conviction. "The vision was real, I have beheld all too much come to pass as I have foreseen to not recognize the truth." He ignored strange looks from those who overheard his muttering, and they in turn promptly forgot him and turned back to their slot machines. "My interpretation was wrong. But how?"

For a dread moment sudden nervousness crossed over him, giving him a chill to his very spine, making him quiver almost as though an electric current was going through him. The loud and sudden braying of a siren went off to his left, making him jump. It was immediately followed by the sound of loudly clanking coinage. Someone had struck a jackpot. Despite himself he chuckled, the unease still present, but now in the back of his head. He resolved himself to meet with the others and devise a plan of what to do from here.

OUT OF THE (LUXURIOUS) SUITE

I hate casinos. Too loud, too many people. I loved casinos up to… well…. Yesterday, but today I would rather be anywhere else. The ring box had bought me a few hours sleep, but then I was overcome by this bizarre paranoia that someone was going to steal the ring. I spent no small amount of time deciding what to do (my first idea was to stick the box in a sock, if only I had one of my brothers-they would have stopped anyone) and I think I have finally reached a decision. The sleep gave me back some of my sanity, and for a little while I was once again wondering if perhaps stress just tormented me enough to make me snap a little. But then I picked up the ring box, and an emotion ran through me, somewhere between terror and desire, and maybe just a little bit of hunger, and now I've had an epiphany.

Well not now, about an hour ago. Here's my epiphany: I'm getting rid of the damn thing. There, I said it. I'm not throwing it away, I have a feeling if I just chucked it into the trash I would be picking through landfills for the rest of my life looking for it. And what if someone else found it? The ring is either a. Evil or b. Not Evil. If the answer is 'b', then I'm crazy and none of this matters but I still need to get rid of the ring in hopes that when they do put me in a padded cell I will have the memory of destroying it to comfort myself. If the answer is 'a', well, I don't know. If the answer is 'a' then the world is mad and maybe a padded cell will be nice. Despite my ranting yesterday, I have never really believed in evil. People can choose to act in an evil way, circumstances can be such that we feel that they are evil, but nothing is just evil without interpretation to such.

If the ring is evil, then there is evil, and the world is a very different place than I thought it was. A scary epiphany, really.

People are looking at me funny, probably because I am clutching my pant's pocket. Originally I put the ring-box and all-in my pocket, but that was really very uncomfortable. I've decided I'm not going to physically touch the thing again, I flipped the box over so the ring fell into my pocket, and I have a handkerchief for when I get to the place where I'm taking the thing to be destroyed. However, now the ring is in my pocket, and although I can feel it, the constant paranoia I woke up with is eating at me and I'm walking around the casino clutching my pocket so the ring won't leap out. People must see me and think I'm nuts. At least I'm not the only crazy. In Las Vegas there are all sorts of eccentric people, I swear there was a woman I saw a week ago who sang "bad back luck bad luck go away"-loudly- and kissed a troll doll before she pulled the arm on a slot machine every time she played. People probably think I have some lucky charm I'm guarding.

If only they knew. I have a bad luck charm. Suddenly I feel a prickling on the back of my neck, as though a current were going through me. I feel strange, as if a storm were building, but before any thunder strikes I hear a loud siren and jump. I can't help but chuckle just a bit, someone has struck it big. Perhaps my 'bad luck charm' did someone some good. As I move toward the door the feeling fades and when my feet hit the pavement I feel the brief respite gone completely.

I also feel like I've made a mistake.

In the Casino, Elrond placed a hand to his head, a sharp stabbing pain of a very vague vision. He had made a mistake.


	3. In Which Madness Ensues

Hey everyone! I know that this chapter took a little bit to get up! To the people who wrote me with advice and comments, I didn't ignore you! I couldn't find email addresses in the FanFiction note things… email me again, and I will write you back! Here is the newest chapter, please review!

ON THE STRIP

My feet hit the pavement and I feel sick. Not just the kinds of sick that I've been feeling, but really sick, like, stomach-ache sick. I don't even remember the last meal I had, I just have a vague feeling it was before the ceremony yesterday. Was that yesterday? Good God, it could have been a month ago, and I wouldn't even know! I stop, and take a deep breath. I am going to destroy this thing, but I have to keep myself as sane as possible to accomplish that. I need to eat something. The very thought makes my stomach turn, but I will force something down, even if it comes right back up. At a corner a man steps in my path, and I'm not sure that until this point I had even realized how close I am to snapping. I could punch this man in the face right now and not even feel bad about it. He tries to hand me a slip of paper. If you're in Vegas long enough (about an hour) you'll either get very good at dodging these things, or accumulate a nasty little pile of business-card sized smut. Despite the fact I'm a woman I'm still given the things. A friend who was in Vegas on a business trip was pushed to take these things while walking down the street with his wife, and their baby in his arms. I push the peddler away, and for a second I think he'll take it in stride.

His face begins to smile a 'can't blame me for trying' smirk, but then twists into a look that frightens me. He snarls and demands my wallet. But he's staring at my pocket. Either he noticed me clutching at it (possible), or he senses… something… about what I have (this seems more likely to me). I take two steps back, and poise myself to run, but he moves with surprising speed and grabs my wrist. Now I draw back my hand and slap him across the face. In the self-defense classes I took in high school (it was that or gym class) they taught us to scream "fire" when attacked, but I can't bring myself to say a thing. I'm terrified of having another person join in this fray, if they do, they may wind up with this thing that is so horrifyingly precious to me. I start to claw at his eyes, but he's stronger than I am, he grabs my free hand with his free hand, and tries to restrain me with a one-handed grasp. It dawns on me that he is going to use his other hand to go for my pocket, and I grab his hands with my own, wishing I have longer nails to fasten myself to him more completely.

A tall man comes up behind my attacker, and I'm not sure if I should be relieved or give in the panic that now is overwhelming me. Fortunately, for me, the tall man grabs my assailant and I'm free. They struggle for a second, but the intervening stranger is obviously stronger than the smut peddler. I turn, and feeling a sudden pang of guilt over leaving my hero alone to fight this battle for me, I run into the street and am almost hit by a cab. I run around to the driver's side, and throw myself in the back seat. My luck must be running high tonight (can you feel the sarcasm?) because I happen to have a twenty in my pocket. I throw it over the seat, and yell out an address less than two blocks away. The driver forbears to yell at my lack of caution in favor of taking the extra money. As we pull away from the curb some of my guilt bleeds away. The stranger who had ducked into the fray to help me has overpowered the other man, and now has him against the wall and is somehow calming him. I allow myself to go limp in my seat.

HOLDING A STRANGER AGAINST THE WALL

Elrond was at turns grateful the woman had fled, and furious she had left without speaking to him. Her absence had resulted in the man who had attacked her going almost limp. Already he looked amazed with himself. He was obviously not someone normally given to violence. Elrond released him, and looked around desperately. He had followed his uneasy feeling out of the casino and had felt his complete attention drawn to the woman. He had continued trailing her, her hand had stayed constantly clenched around her pocket but no one seemed to pay any mind. Until she had locked eyes with the man on the corner and hell had broken loose. The odd feeling and her strange manner had not been conclusive of his suspicion, but the near maniacal look in the man's eyes as he had pulled him away from her was proof enough to Elrond. She had the ring.

Keeping his eye on the car she had jumped in, he flagged down a cab and pointing said "follow that car!" The cabby turned and stared at him for a moment and Elrond cast a twenty over the seat. The driver shrugged and hit the gas.

RECITING EPIC POETRY TO NOT GO INSANE

"Sing in me Muse, and Through me tell the story,

Of that man, skilled in all ways of contending,

The Wanderer…"

The same six verses of the Odyssey is cycling through my head. The first chorus of the play outlines the entire story, and we all memorized it when I was in high school. When I used to jog on the streets of Seattle, if I didn't have a walkman with me, I would run the poem through my head to help me keep the rhythm. It has a soothing beat and I started silently reciting it in the cab almost unconsciously. Now I'm saying it out loud, but there is no one around to notice, or think me strange. The poem has a strange side effect of making my mind have some semblance of order. It as though it is drowning out a touch of the insanity. I'm fumbling through my keys, searching for the one that opens this particular door. When I started preparations for construction I asked for an office close to the strip to avoid having to drive or be driven unless necessary. The result had been a small office two blocks off the strip. Normally the cost of rent for a place like this would be prohibitive for use as a mere office, but this space belongs to the owner of the casino I've designed and is between uses. Next month they'll move me and make this place something else, but for right now it's mine.

I find the key, and stumble inside. There are floor plans, scale drawings, a few really cool looking models, but these things that normally consume me don't even phase me tonight. I stumble to a setup where we've stored some tools and fumble through the items, discarding them on the floor until I find what I was searching for. A blow torch.

"…Skilled in all ways of Contending, the Wanderer,

Harried for years on end after he plundered the Stronghold…"

I snatch the handkerchief out of my pocket and in slow motion remove the ring. For one moment I have an overwhelming urge to put the thing on, "On the proud height of Troy, He traveled the Homelands…" but the steady recitation is helping. It's distracting me just enough to resist. I want to torch the thing, but this is a tool capable of great heat, and I would rather not, even in this mad state, burn down the building I was entrusted with, along with myself inside. I walk the ring and the torch to a work bench, and manage, without touching its metal, to fasten it in a vice. I hold the torch up, and almost fire it up, before remembering I need a mask to protect my face and eyes. Fortunately one in hanging by the bench, or else I may have simply paid the price and gone blind to get this act over with. "And learned the minds of many distant men, and strove only to bring his own men home…"

Finally, I have the ring in a vice, a mask to protect myself, and I fire up the torch. I touch the torch to the ring, and wait for it's speedy melting.

Nothing happens. I continue holding the flame to the ring. Nothing happens. Almost unconsciously, I turn off the torch and push up the mask. I stare at the ring. It looks completely unharmed. Dropping to my knees I start to cry.

FINALLY…IN A REALLY NEAT OFFICE

Elrond almost missed her, his cab had just turned the corner, as hers had driven off, but he had made the assumption that it had let her out, and he was now begging the Valar that he had been right. Passing a door, he noticed a fiery light flare brightly for a few moments, and then disappear. With an almost helpless desperation he grasped the door handle, and tried it, surprised when it turned easily and the door swung open. He quickly strode through it, and was startled by the sight of the woman he had been pursuing on her knees sobbing into her hands. She had not even noticed him yet, and he took a moment to searchingly scan the room. There were careful plans rolled in stacks on tables, a couple carefully unscrolled and being held down by paperweights on each corner. Some of the drawings were of individual rooms, and structures he couldn't determine in their plan-form. There were also some graceful little models, some almost obviously correlating to the meticulous drawings. His eyes lit upon a small sparkle of gold caught in a vice. There was a discarded blowtorch lying on the floor beside the kneeling, still sobbing figure, and the slow realization dawned on Elrond.

She had been trying to destroy the thing.


	4. In Which the Architect Needs Coffee

To I.H.N., thank you for your review, you inspired me to write again.She is really very strong, but probably not more so than Isildur himself, but he was from another time and place, and his values and hers are very different. Frodo had great resilence (sp) to the ring, but was it really just hobbit-iness that gave him that, or was it his values? He wasn't a warrior or a king, he just wanted to be able to go home. Whereas Isildur and Boromir were conditioned to value power very highly, even if they began only wanting it for protection, Frodo and Bilbo didn't really value power at all. Home, good food, songs, friends. Those are the things that gave them true power, enough to resist the ring as long as they did.

STILL IN THE NEAT OFFICE

Okay, now I'm sobbing on my office floor and guess what? I don't care. Earlier I was fine, even when I was crazy, I was still in control. I was trying to decide to destroy that… that... that thing… that hideous thing, but once I decided what to do I was almost okay. I was still going nuts, but you know what? I was okay because I was taking action. When I was little I would see a building in my head, and I would want to make it real, and it was painful because I didn't know how. Then I went to the library and taught myself to read plans, I paid attention in math and learned how to understand the plans, and then I started making my own plans and created the beautiful buildings I saw in my head. That made the pain stop, and the same thing happened today. The ring caused me pain, I figured it out in my mind how to destroy the ring, and craziness, desperation, sickness, all those things set in, but the soul-crushing pain disappeared. Now I'm helpless against the thing and it hurts so bad I just don't care. I have this sick desire to put on the ring, and that just makes the pain worse. Now my entire self is bent around giving into the nasty little thing, except this one proud little part, the part that rode my bike to the library to read plans when I had barely learned to read at all, and that little part is what's causing the pain. If I would just give up, I could put on the ring and never feel this way again, but I can't because of that nasty little voice and if I could reach inside myself I would rip it out and… Do you hear this? I've never in my entire life been violent or destructive, I'm a builder, I hate to see buildings torn down even when I know my own will take their place. Here I am, wanting to destroy a part of myself?

Slowly, I drag myself to my feet, where did I leave off with the poetry? "Visited the townlands, and learned the minds of many distant men?" I don't think that's right… but just reciting the verse gives me some of the peace I used to feel when I went jogging. Not a lot of peace, but enough to calm down. I close my eyes, and can almost see the horizon from my favorite part of the route I used to job. I would crest a hill and see almost all of Seattle and the Sound laid out before me. If I timed it just right the sun would be rising or setting and the world would be red. I let out a jagged breath and turn my attention to the ring. It's glowing… I can tell that it is still hot. But the band isn't perfect anymore, there are cracks. I look closer and am surprised by what looks like writing.

"It is the language of Mordor." The voice is masculine and it is behind me, I jump and let out a startled yelp, and feeling goofy punch the stranger in the shoulder. Not roughly, but as I might've punched my best friend for telling a stupid joke in a bar. His face had been solemn, but my action surprises both of us, and he quirkes an eyebrow at me and rubs his arm. I'm on an emotional roller coaster and catch myself about to go into some panicked sobbing laughter, but stop myself and giggle maniacally instead. It only lasts a second. I must have left the door unlocked in my mentally unstable state. This guy could be any axe murderer and I'm giggling with him... But no, he's the guy who helped me on the corner with the guy who attacked me.

"Language of what?"

"It is the language of Mordor, a dark land, I shall not speak it here, but the band says: "One ring to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them."

"Huh." I start giggling again. I mean, come on, isn't that a little dramatic? It takes me a second to regain control, and I ask, more to sound not insane than because I really care: "Who wrote it?"

"It is part of a poem:

'Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for the Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.

In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie.'

That is the poem of which I speak."

His solemn look is back, and his language has become very formal. His very presence is making some of my insanity slip away, but he seems to be someone to whom a great burden has been laid, and the terrible, mischievous part of me can't help but take over: "It rhymes."

He looks at me a little startled, "Beg your pardon?"

"Well, if it's in the language of Mordor, why does it rhyme in English? That's pretty darn convenient. Is it an exact translation, or did you dress it up." The man looks at me, and I swear his ears are pointy. I'm really going crazy. A horrific thought occurs to me: "Are you real?"

Now he looks startled as well as offended, and he repeats: "Beg your pardon?"

"Well, sir, this day hasn't been chock full of sanity for me, and imagining pointy-eared guys appearing in my office doesn't sound that far out of the realm of possibility. Are you real?"

He stares at me, and then reaches out and pinches my arm. Hard. "Ow."

"Does that settle that? Or do you need more proof that I'm real? We need to discuss how we are going to rid ourselves of that accursed thing."

I have a sudden, blinding burst of hope at that statement. He apparently knows it needs to be destroyed, he is apparently real (my arm hurts), and he's apparently going to help me. The insanity is building again, but his presence is doing what the poetry did earlier, it's distracting me enough that I'm able to grasp the one corner of my mind that is analytical and hang on like I would to the edge of a cliff. I suddenly see Mount Rainier as I would if I was looking at it on a clear cool spring day back home. I imagine what it would be like to be clinging off a crag, about to fall. I wonder if this man is strong enough that he could catch me. I shove the thought aside: you either climb the mountain or you don't. You either trust the people you climb with, or you fall.

Despite the unnerving vision of dangling from Rainier's volcano-carved side, strangely the thought bolsters me. In my head I can trace the peaks of Mount Rainier against the sky. There are three, or so it always appeared to me. They were created when the mountain exploded sometime in the ancient past. I can also see the glaciers, glowing in the sunlight like stars that made their home on earth. This vision further grounds my mind, and I realize that whenever I concentrate on my home I'm closer to sane. Knowing this, I do what any Seattle-ite would.

"You're right, we need to discuss this. There's a Starbucks up the block." The guys eyebrow quirks again, but I don't leave him time to argue. The ring appears cool, so I use the tongs to pick it up and drop it in my pocket. Thinking straight for a second I also snatch up my keys, and as I follow pointy-ear guy out of the office, I actually remember to lock the door.


End file.
